


How To Not Lose A Friend

by DancingInTheDark85



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingInTheDark85/pseuds/DancingInTheDark85
Summary: When Osferth is injured at Beamfleot, Finan takes it upon himself to ensure it doesn’t happen again, but his efforts aren’t all that appreciated and might be causing more harm than good.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	How To Not Lose A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this while writing my other fic Bound. So if you’re spotting a theme, that’s why. Or maybe I’m just feeling the need to punish myself with exercise. You don’t have to have read Bound for this, and actually this one might be better read first. Enjoy.

When Osferth was rudely awakened by a sharp toe to his leg, he thought they must have been attacked. He jolted awake and grabbed for the staff beside his bed, before he blinked into the pre-dawn light and realised there was no sound of fighting, just Finan stood over him expectantly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Come on Baby Monk!” Finan replied. “You said last night your wound was healed enough to start training. No more excuses.”

Excuses? The wound had nearly killed him, and not that long ago. He tried to remember what had been said last night. They’d been drinking and his tongue felt dry, his head sore. Finan, as usual, had had a lot more to drink than he, how could he be stood there with that grim smile on his face wanting to train?

“Come on, get up.”

It didn’t sound like Finan was messing around so he did as he was told, hauling himself out of bed, pulling his boots on and grabbing his staff.

“Leave your staff here for now, we’re going for a run,” Finan announced as they stepped out into the chilly spring air.

A run? That was even worse that Osferth imagined. He quite enjoyed the training he used to do with Sihtric, but there had never been any running, he hated it.

“You’d be better without your surcoat,” Finan commented. He was already only dressed in his thin, sleeveless tunic, and even that he pulled off over his head. “It’s too long, it’ll trip you up and you’ll only make is sweaty.”

A practical notion, and all very well to say if you looked like Finan. He, Uhtred and Sihtric all had bodies hewn in sharp relief from a lifetime of swinging steel. Osferth has started to get some definition but his injury had forced that to lapse a little. He did as he was told though, stripped to his breeches and boots, feeling scrawny yet soft at the same time.

They started off gently enough, a light jog out of the village, but once they were in the open fields Finan picked up the pace. “Faster, faster, more, push!” he barked, pushing further and further until Osferth thought he was going to be sick. Thankfully there were no hills because Osferth was sure they’d be racing up and down them if there was. He lagged behind Finan, who was making it look so bloody easy, the other man just glancing over his shoulder a few times to make sure he was still there and to shout his commands. Which was ridiculous because surely he could hear Osferth’s laboured breathing and his clumsy footsteps.

“That’s it,” he gasped eventually, bending over and placing his hands just above his knees as he struggled to draw breath. “I cannot run any further.”

“If you were in a battle there is no ‘I cannot,’” Finan said. “Those who ‘cannot’ die.”

Osferth had nothing to say to that, just kept sucking air into his lungs and hoping it was over. It wasn’t though.

“Come on, lighter jog back to recover then sprint finish.” Finan set off again without waiting for him to argue.

He thought about arguing. He thought about just lying down and refusing to move, but he reminded himself that the other man had got up early, no doubt braving a hangover of his own to help him, so reluctantly he forced his legs to work and limped after the other man.

They came back into the village just as the sun was crawling into the sky above the trees, signalling a crisp and clear day ahead. The villagers were just starting to get ready for the day, and they all stopped to watch as he and Finan picked up the pace and raced though the streets, past Hild who was just welcoming people into the church for the first prayer of the morning, past Uhtred who was sat on his doorstep drinking a mug of nettle and elderflower tea, past Morwena the tavern girl who Osferth still had not summoned the courage to speak to. It was a calculated move by Finan, he realised, and it worked, spurring him on in the final stretch.

He was hoping to stop back at their houses but he realised with dismay that they were running past that to the training ground that had been set up at the back of the village. Only once they were in the training square did Finan come to a halt. At least it was out of the way of prying eyes while he struggled to breathe.

“Five minutes break,” Finan said, scooping a cup of water from the barrel in the corner and handing it to him, before going to the weapons racks and pulling out shields and blunted swords.

Osferth wanted to tell him no, but he knew it would be useless. “What about my staff?” he asked instead, not wanting to practice any of it after the gruelling run.

“No more staffs. They’re fine for rapping a small boys knuckles but no good for the battlefield.”

Osferth frowned, it wasn’t an entirely fair comment, he had killed people with his staff, a rap to the knuckles would smash them to pieces.

“Here, we’ll start with an axe, it’s what I started with. Get good enough at that and we’ll move on.”

“And how old were you when you started swinging an axe around your head?” Osferth asked as he took the proffered weapon.

“I cannot remember, six? Seven maybe?”

“Good Lord, it must have been half your weight!”

Finan just shrugged, “Well I never said I was very good at it. But I got better, and you will too.”

It was the first positive thing he’d said all morning, and Osferth nodded, wanting to believe it. Finan took up a shield and picked an axe off a rack, flipping it casually in his hand to test the weight of it, before coming straight at Osferth. The man panicked, dropping his cup of water and snatching up the shield that lay at his feet, just in time to block Finan’s jarring swing.

“You need to be faster than that Baby Monk!” he said, flipping the axe casually in his hand before going in for another swing, with such strength Osferth thought he might mean to kill him after all. The blunted weapon slammed into the shield and cracked it, shoving Osferth back so that he lost his footing and he fell to his arse.

He just wanted to lay there, legs trembling from his run, surely Finan could see that there was no strength left in him, but instead he stood over him, a scowl on his face, “Come on! Get up! If this was a battle would you just lay down and die?”

It was almost noon before he was dismissed to go break his fast. He was so weary that he sat in the ale house and stared at his bowl of stew for a long time before he had the energy to lift his spoon. He wanted it to be over, if Finan was making a cruel point about him wanting to be a warrior but neglecting to put the effort in, well he received it. When, in the afternoon, Finan came to find him, bathed and dressed, he thought he was going to order an ale and ask him what he’d learned. Instead he cajoled him back to the training field and forced him do archery for two hours. 

Draw, loose, draw, loose, draw, hold it, hold it, hold it, loose. It was exhausting and his shots got progressively worse as the afternoon wore on. Finan stood on the sideline and barked instruction at him, “elbow up, breathe, hold it, what the fuck are you doing with your feet?” until Osferth was temped to put an arrow in him. He’d probably miss though, he thought bitterly.

He ate, washed and went to bed, all before sundown. Never had he been so tired on a day of peace, possibly not even on a day of battle either. He thought of his time in the seminary, how the monks had made all the young boys get up at dawn and scrub the floors before their lessons. He’d thought he’d known tiredness then. Pah! Who would have known that a usually affable Irishman could be an even harder taskmaster.

If he had expected a reprieve the following morning, then he was sorely mistaken, with an emphasis on the sorely. He’d woken up in the middle of the night with agonising cramps in his thighs, calves and forearms, and when Finan woke him before dawn again, he could hardly crawl out of bed. There was a new task that morning, apparently Finan had spent the evening fashioning reins and tack into harnesses for pulling huge logs. The straps went over the head and shoulders, crisscrossing at the back with a grown tree attached. He’d made two, strapped himself into one as well as Osferth and then started to pull, straining against the weight until finally he started to move. 

Osferth leaned into it, the straps pulling painfully at his shoulders, his feet slipping in the soft ground. It felt useless, and he was about to quit, but Finan shouted at him from the other side of the field until he was so angry that he started to move.

“Took your time!” Finan said as he joined him on the other side, “now we heft it up vertical and top it over and go back again.”

“For what purpose?” Osferth asked, watching Finan, bend at the knees, grasp the huge trunk in his hands and pull it up onto his shoulder before walking it upright and letting it crash back down so that the harnessed end was now facing back the way they had come.

“If one of us was injured, would you be able to drag us from battle? Could you drag me or Uhtred in full armour? What if it was someone as big as Steapa? Or if one of us was trapped under a horse?”

Osferth sighed, of course he couldn’t. He doubted that many warriors could. But he didn’t say that, he just bent down and grasped the log and with a grunt of effort managed to lift it at least six inches from the ground. His knees trembled, arms felt like they were gonna pull right out of his sockets, he dropped it before he got it on his shoulder. 

“Again,” Finan ordered, continuing to push, but he couldn’t do it. Eventually, Finan did it for him and then ordered him back into the harness for the next pull. Osferth flushed hot with embarrassment, determined to show Finan he could do it, but his anger did not fuel his strength, rather, it made his eyes well instead.

The whole thing was ridiculous, he wanted to rage, it was an impossible task and no one could do it, except, there was Finan beside him, doing it. He was even angrier at himself though, for getting so emotional about it. It was usually Uhtred and Finan who struggled to keep their emotions in check, but they would never have gotten themselves so upset over something so petty, they were battle-hardened and did not cry about such things, or about anything at all! How could he ever hope to be anything like them?

The day didn’t get any easier, nor did the rest of the week. Every morning Finan seemed to think up a new way to torture him. The only reprieve was on the following week, when Osferth had to admit he couldn’t swim. They’d gone for a run instead but the next morning Finan had lined up Sihtric and Uhtred by the river as well. Apparently, while Osferth had been sleeping off the trials of the day, Finan had been in the ale house lamenting the lack of the man’s swimming ability only to realise with horror that the other two had never learned to swim either.

The swimming lessons had become fun, Uhtred and Sihtric joking about like naughty children and managed to soften Finan’s approach. Osferth found he liked swimming, in the calm waters of the river at least and the time spent with his friends was a welcome reprieve from the other guelling tasks, but if he hoped that it would make Finan gentler towards him then he was wrong.

His whole life became about training, for any minute he was not in the yard covered in sweat, he was in bed trying desperately to get enough sleep. Even his dreams were of training, he would be struggling through some impossible task with Finan stood over him shouting obscenities until he woke up and Finan was there, shouting obscenities.

And it was all for nought anyway, he certainly didn’t feel stronger, if battle came to them now he might just kneel in the grass and allow himself to be put out of his misery. He’d hoped at first he might find something he could excel at, show Finan he wasn’t completely useless, but his talent was for letters and reading, and then he’d picked a life where that held little value. So it was all his fault really. He’d never be good at any of it, and a new battle would come and he’d die, or worse still, one of the others would in some heroic attempt to protect him. He’d often had those thoughts, but they came more and more to him now, but rather than spur him to get better, they made his body feel even more leaden.

He found himself thankful that Finan was a Christian, because Osferth was sure if he had been a Dane he would have been forced to train on the Sabbath as well. But despite the adherence to the Holy Day of rest, Osferth had not set in foot inside the small chapel for weeks. Eventually that concerned even Uhtred, who knocked on his door one Sunday afternoon before casually letting himself in.

“What are you doing still in bed?” he exclaimed as Osferth looked up from his book. “Are you sick?” He sat down on the bed beside Osferth who made no attempt to move.

“If I am sick, it is only of that bloody Irish bastard and his torture.”

Uhtred laughed, “He has been putting you to the grindstone. But he’s only trying to help.”

“Yes? Well it feels like he means to kill me.” Osferth huffed before he caught himself. “I’m sorry my Lord. I know he is trying to help, I just fear I might be beyond it.”

“What do you mean?” Uhtred frowned. 

“I think I need to start accepting I will never be a warrior.”

“You’re being ridiculous!” Uhtred said, but more gently than the way Finan had accused him of the same thing a few days before. “You’re already a warrior, and you are improving each day.”

“I’m not,” he said wearily, aware that he sounded like a sulky child.

“You are! I saw you flip that log yesterday. What does Finan say?”

“He berates me for not having the strength to do it a second time.”

Uhtred’s shoulders slumped in disappointment, “Shall I speak to him?”

“Please no. He will only see it as another weakness if I cannot stand up for myself.”

Uhtred stood up and patted Osferth on the leg, “If he thought you were weak, he would not bother to teach you. Enjoy your day of rest, but you had better be in church next Sunday or Hild will think you’ve turned heathen.”

*  
Uhtred sighed as he left Osferth’s house. The poor boy looked wrecked. He understood why Osferth didn’t want him to speak on his behalf but he could let this carry on this way.

He went to hunt out his Irish second-in-command but all the usual places he would expect him were void of his presence. It should not have been this hard to find him, he usually went to church in the morning and then went to Sihtric’s for Sunday dinner, but no one had seen him all day and he wasn’t at home or working in his little garden and the ale house was empty.

The last place he expected him after the last few weeks was in the training ground, but Uhtred checked anyway and found him alone in the square, swinging his sword and twisting his body in carefully controlled movements.

Uhtred stood and watched as Finan swung the blade over and over, sweat glistening on his bare arms. His body was covered in deep bruises from their training sessions, if Finan’s were like this, he dreaded to think what Osferth must look like, but it was proof that it was not just the monk the Irishman was pushing. He kept going until by chance he managed to look Uhtred’s way and realised he was being watched.

“My Lord?”

“Have you not had enough? I hear you have been running your Baby Monk ragged.”

“Aye, he’s coming along alright, he works hard that boy.”

“Have you told him that?” Uhtred asked.

“He can see the improvement. He’s getting stronger, he can run much further, his sword skill is looking good. He might even best you one day.”

Uhtred frowned, “Did you?”

“What?” Finan snapped. He thrust his sword back into the rack and wiped his face with a rag hanging over the fence.

“When whoever taught you how to fight treated you this way, did you see the progress you were making? Or did you just hear harsh words and more punishment?”

“That was different, I was a child!”

Uhtred felt his heart breaking just a little for his friend. The man never spoke about his life before they’d met, and they’d never pushed him to, but somethings were just too obvious to ignore.

“Osferth has never had a father,” Uhtred reminded. “You are not too different in age, I know. But you chosen to take on the responsibility of teaching him. He looks up to you. You need to treat him as the father you would have wanted, not the father you had.”

Finan seemed to become boneless as he realised the truth of the other man’s words. “Ah Jesus. I was just trying to make sure the bastard didn’t get killed!”

Uhtred stepped forward and wrapped both arms around the Irishman’s shoulders. “I know brother, I know.”

“Ugh,” Finan pulled out of the hug and scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, “I’ve gotta go speak to him.”

*  
“You know, my father was determined to raise the best warriors Irland had ever seen,” Finan’s voice startled Osferth from his daydreaming.

The former monk hadn’t even noticed the door opening, but there he was, leaning a shoulder against the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Osferth sighed, Finan was the last person in the world he wanted to see right then, and Uhtred had betrayed him and brought him right to his door. He looked up at him and waited to endure the derision.

“I started training for it when I was five. Every day, until I cried with exhaustion and then he’d beat me for crying. It worked, I went to battle aged twelve, and despite all the battles since I’m still standing. On the slave ship I outlasted men both bigger and stronger than me because I knew how to endure. When you got injured, you scared me, I was meant to look after you and I failed.” 

“You didn’t...” Osferth began.

“No. Please, just let me explain.” Finan shifted awkwardly, refused to meet his gaze. “I thought of all the ways I could stop you getting killed, and this was the one that has worked for me. But not once did I make my father proud of me, and after a while I hated him so much I no longer cared whether he was. I don’t want you to hate me Osferth and I should have said how proud you have made me.”

“Finan, I...”

But he ducked out of the house before Osferth could finish his thought. He scrambled to his feet and chased after him but the man was already striding away.

“Finan, wait...” he chased after him but the Irishman didn’t slow down. He was liable to get his head bitten off if he continued. What could he say to a confession like that? “Hey Finan! Can we practice the log throw tomorrow? I think I’m getting the knack of it,” he shouted after him.

Finan froze and spun round slowly to face him, conflicting emotions written all over his expressive face. Osferth knew that the man hated how easily his face betrayed his emotions, and maybe he could now start to understand why. And why he kept his past locked up so tightly beneath his armour. Osferth had always thought Finan could withstand anything, even his time as a slave, he felt free to make jokes, while Uhtred cringed away from the topic and refused to acknowledge it had happened. But it had always been like life before Uhtred had never existed for the Irishman, he did not speak of it and they did not pry. 

So he bade by those unwritten rules, gave him a smile and walked away and when they met Uhtred, Sihtric and Hild at the ale house that evening it was as though the conversation had never happened, but come the morning, Osferth went to knock on Finan’s door and drag him out of bed for a change.

*  
With an understanding of each other, they found their balance and training together even became enjoyable. Osferth for his part forgot all about their rocky start until years later. They’d spent all day marching the children across the countryside in a desperate attempt to escape the clutches of the Mercian guard. They were all exhausted but Finan had spent the whole day carrying the young Athelstan on his shoulders without complaint. The pair of them were now crouched at the top of the waterfall and Finan was teaching the boy to make little boats to sail down the stream. Osferth could see the tension in Finan, he’d been in a state of apprehension since they’d first found out about the sickness, another little piece of his past that he refused to speak about, but with the boy he was calm and patient and refused to let it show.

He called them all for their supper and watched as Finan picked up the boy and whirled him around before placing him back up on his shoulders to make his way down the steep bank to the fire pit. He sat Athelstan down on the log that had been dragged across to sit on and nudged him forward to receive a bowl of food. They didn’t have enough so it had been decided the children would eat first and then the adults would take what was left. Osferth ladled the stew into the boy’s bowl and then clapped his hand down on Finan’s shoulder and dipped his head in to whisper. “You know, it should not have been me to say it, but I’m proud of you too.”

Finan looked up at him with a start, gnawing on his lip until he replaced it with the Celtic cross around his neck. a haunted look in his eyes. He cleared his throat, “I’m gonna go take a piss,” he announced and strode off into the woods.

Eadith frowned, “What did you say to him?”

Osferth smiled, “Something that he should have heard a long time ago.” 

Uhtred gave him a knowing smile but neither would say anything more, and if Finan’s eyes were a little red rimmed when he returned, well they wouldn’t say anything about that either.


End file.
